The Nine Giants by Edward Marston Page A

and it caused him to slow his pace. Someone was lurking beside the front door, seated on the ground and curled up in an attitude of sleep that he did not trust for a second. Those who walked through the darkness of Southwark were used to the skulking presence of thieves and they used all kinds of tricks to lull the unwary off guard. As Nicholas closed in on the house, one hand fondled the dagger at his waist. The figure on the ground was rough and sturdy with a hat pulled down over his face. There was a sense of crude power about him. Ready for any attack, Nicholas extended a foot to push the man over.
    ‘God’s blood! I’ll cut your rotten liver out!’
    A gushing waterfall of vile abuse came from the man’s mouth until he recognised who had roused him from his slumbers. He leapt up at once to issue a stream of apologies and to ingratiate himself with bows and shrugs. Abel Strudwick had waited a long time for his hope of a new future. A broad grin split his hideous face in two and gave it an even more alarming quality.
    ‘You may change my whole life, Master Bracewell.’
    ‘May I?’
    ‘Put me upon the stage, sir!’
     
    Sir Lucas Pugsley never tired of admiring himself in his full regalia as Lord Mayor of London. He paraded up and down in front of the long mirror and watched his blackand gold gown trail along the floor. Power had turned an ambitious man into a dangerous one who sought means both to retain and enlarge that power. As Alderman Luke Pugsley of the Fishmongers’ Company, he was rich, secure and very influential. When he was elevated to the highest civic office, he became like a demi-god and was consumed with his own self-esteem. Over thirty officers belonged to the Lord Mayor’s House. They included the Sword-bearer, the Common Crier, the City Marshall and the Coroner for London as well as the Common Hunt, the Water Bailiff and other assorted bailiffs, sergeants and yeomen. There were always three meal-weighers at his beck and call.
    The man on whom he relied most was the Chamberlain.
    ‘Will you put on your chain of office, Lord Mayor?’
    ‘Bring it to me, sir.’
    ‘It becomes you so well.’
    ‘I carry it with dignity and good breeding.’
    Aubrey Kenyon was tall, well built and quite stately with greying temples lending an air of distinction to the clear, clean-shaven face. The Chamberlain was responsible for the financial affairs of the city but Kenyon’s role had enlarged well beyond that. Like his predecessors, the present Lord Mayor found him a source of comprehensive information about civic life and duty, and befriended him early on. Aubrey Kenyon had no airs and graces. Despite the importance of his position, he was happy to perform more menial tasks for the man whom he served. He stood back to appraise the chain.
    ‘It looks exceeding fine,’ he said.
    ‘Its weight reminds me of my civic burdens.’
    ‘You have borne them with lightness.’
    ‘Thank you, Aubrey.’ He stroked the gold collar. ‘This chain was bequeathed to the mayoralty in 1545 by John Allen who held the office twice. I venture to suggest that nobody has worn it with such pride and with such distinction. Am I not the most conscientious Lord Mayor you have ever encountered? Be honest with me, Aubrey, for I trust your opinion above all others. Have I not been a credit to my office?’
    ‘Indeed, indeed.’
    Kenyon bowed his agreement then adjusted the chain slightly to make it completely straight. It consisted of twenty-six gold knots, interspersed with roses and the Tudor portcullis and it set off the gold thread which weighted the gown of stiff silk. Beneath his gown, Pugsley wore the traditional court dress of knee breeches, silk stockings and buckled shoes. Aubrey Kenyon held out the mayoral hat with its flurry of ostrich feathers. When it was placed carefully in position, the Lord Mayor of London was ready to attend yet another civic banquet.
    ‘Is everything in order, Aubrey?’
    ‘We await but your august